


The Way Out

by lanri



Series: Unseen [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Blindness, Episode: s02e06 No Exit, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Season 2, Unseen 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their rhythm was broken, but it could be fixed. Sam would make sure of that. Or die trying. Tag to No Exit, Unseen ‘verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way Out

“Dean, could I talk to you for a minute?” Sam kept his face in a parody of calmness, but let it drop once he had guided his brother into the side room.

“Dean,” he hissed. “What are you thinking? How old is Jo, huh?”

“I’m thinking that she won’t care what we think and will do this hunt anyway.” Dean’s voice was calm. “And I could use the help.”

Sam froze, unsure whether that was Dean deliberately or accidentally writing him off.

“And it’ll be fine. She seems competent.”

“Competent doesn’t mean we should put her in harm’s way,” Sam said sharply.

“You worry too much. She’ll be fine.” Dean’s voice was nonchalant.

“Maybe you don’t worry enough,” Sam shot back.

Dean’s voice grew sly for some reason. “Sammy, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

Sam stiffened. “What?”

“Are you jealous, huh? Scared I’ll drop you for little miss hunter?”

Sam felt himself flush and turned away. “No. Just think you’ll screw up her life like you do everyone else’s,” he said harshly. He regretted the low blow as soon as it left his lips.

“Well,” Dean said coldly, “don’t let me ruin your life any longer. Jo and I’ll handle this hunt, Sam. You can rest your hand.”

Sam swore and turned, waving his cast in Dean’s direction, but realized belatedly that his brother was already out of the room, talking cheerfully with Jo. Sam wilted, sinking down onto the nearby bed. He wasn’t going to cry. But he really felt like it.

* * *

The case wore on slowly. Sam refused to take medication for his hand, which had the positive effect of keeping him sharp and awake with the pain, but the unfortunate side effect of, well, the pain.

And to make things worse, Sam was stuck in a wall.

Okay, not really. But close enough. Sam snaked out the hand that didn’t have the shotgun to grab at a support and inch backwards. It was stupid of him, going in search of the ghost that way, but he had just wanted to prove to Dean that he could do something. That he wasn’t completely useless.

Sam was only fooling himself, though, and he knew it. He was useless, in every way that mattered. And Sam’s biggest fear was that someday, Dean would look past the fact that Sam was an adored little brother, and realize just how much Sam was a piece of baggage. And worse, how he tended to ruin everything. Just look at Dad.

With dismay, Sam realized he was crying, and quickly rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. Tears were weakness. He would not be weak, not now.

Sam wriggled his way free, sacrificing a couple layers of skin on his palms against the rough brick, but finally was free of the tight space, with a new appreciation for Dean’s claustrophobia—sorry, dislike—of small spaces.

And he had found nothing. Useless. Holmes would continue to take girls, and there was nothing Sam could do.

Sam paused. It was obvious the girls couldn’t be in the walls. It was a cheap apartment building, thin walls. The girls would scream, move, be heard.

Underneath. They had gone over the plans of the building earlier, talked about the entire thing. Dean had mentioned a sewer system, but since their ghost’s MO was the walls, they had ignored it.

“You’re in the sewers,” Sam muttered. “Aren’t you, Holmes.” He moved, and then paused. Strange smell. Kinda like . . .

Sam swore. Holmes used chloroform. And Sam wasn’t exactly a girl, but he was in the spirit’s area, and threatening him.

Too late, Sam was yanked away.

* * *

“Sam’ll be able to figure this out,” Dean muttered absently.

“Huh?” Jo twisted, her knife coming a little too close to Dean for his comfort.

“We should regroup,” Dean said louder, putting more space between him and Jo. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a nice girl—she was, and the legs on her . . .—but Dean didn’t like being separated from Sammy in a place where girls were getting taken. Not that Sam was a girl, because Sam would throw a hissy fit if he thought Dean was thinking that, but Sam was still vulnerable.

Not that Sam wanted him to be around him, anymore. Dean’s throat clenched at the thought, and he brushed by Jo, blinking quickly. What did he have left, except Sam? Nothing, and Sam didn’t get that. Probably blamed him (rightly) for Dad’s death, too.

But he couldn’t lose him.

“Alright, let’s figure this one out, okay?” Dean opened the door for Jo and sighed. “Sam, you have anything?”

“Dean, I think he’s not here.”

Dean cursed, succinctly and violently. He was well-practiced in that. “Jo, call him.” He tossed her his cell phone and geared up, shotguns filled with rock salt, the works.

“Sam?”

Jo’s voice cut through Dean’s single-mindedness and he quickly snatched the phone away, ignoring her indignant expression.

“Sammy?”

“Dean . . . in . . .” the phone’s static interfered and Dean growled.

“Sam, where are you?” he asked urgently.

It crackled, but one word came through before it cut out completely .

“Sam’s in the sewers. Let’s go.” He turned and blinked. Jo was gone.

Nothing was going right that day. First he fought with Sam, then Sam got taken, and now Jo.

* * *

“Not pretty. Not like the others. You will die first.” The cold at Holmes’ presence slowly dissipated.

Sam swallowed at the harsh voice and kept a firm grip on his iron knife. He had lost his cane, but at least he had that.

A crying sound broke through Sam’s thoughts.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he tried.

“He’s coming back,” she whispered. “And there’s another girl.”

Sam jerked pushing fruitlessly against the metal bars. “Can you see her?” he gritted out.

“No.”

Sam’s ears caught the sound of shifting fabric. “Hey,” he tried. “You awake?”

“Sam?”

Sam swore under his breath. “Jo? He got you?”

“No, I just thought I’d hang out in a cage cuz it was fun,” Jo said caustically, but Sam could hear her fast-paced breathing.

“It’ll be okay,” he said soothingly, “breathe, okay?”

“I’m not freaking out,” she defended.

“Good.” Sam blew out a breath. “Can you get out of yours?”

“I’m well and stuck,” Jo admitted. “But you told Dean where we are, right?”

“I dunno.” Sam swallowed. “My phone stopped working when Holmes showed up.”

Jo swore under her breath, and Sam bit back the comment of Ellen hearing her say that. Bringing Jo’s mom into the equation did not seem like a good idea. Not to mention that Sam liked Ellen himself. Made him wonder if that was what having a mom was like.

Sam shook himself mentally. Getting distracted would not help the situation.

“So pretty.” A sibilant hiss and Jo snarled.

“Bite me,” Jo snarled.

“Hey!”

The blast of a shotgun announced Dean’s presence, and Sam sagged with relief.

“Sammy?”

“Dean,” Sam breathed. Everything would be fine, now.

* * *

“My mom’s gonna flip.”

“I figure,” Dean said drily.

“You two good?”

Dean swallowed. “Yeah, we are.”

Jo glanced at him, something in her eyes telling Dean he could probably flirt and she would go for it, hook, line, and sinker.

But now wasn’t the time.

“Go talk to your mom, Jo. Work things out. Trust me.” Dean briefly clasped her shoulder before turning out to his own brother.

“Ready to go?”

Sam nodded, more subdued than Dean had seen him for a while. Well, not that long, and Dean’s mouth twisted at the thought. Whoever said that time dulled grief was a liar.

“Figure we could swing by a movie theatre. Haven’t hit a blockbuster in a while,” Dean suggested.

Sam frowned. “Only if it’s been out for a while,” he finally said.

Dean grinned. “Dude, I know. No reason to get kicked out. Again.” They were always too loud for the patrons of movie theaters as Dean described the movie to Sam.

Sam’s smirk was half-hearted, and Dean repressed a sigh at the knowledge that they would have to talk. And he had no idea what the topic would be. Fantastic. He slid into the Impala, Sam following.

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurted out.

There it was.

“What for?”

Sam squirmed in his seat. “What I said earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

Dean cast his mind past the terror for Sam and the hunt. “Um, I don’t remember anything.”

Sam’s pained expression turned to him. “Don’t joke about this, Dean, I’m being serious.”

“Me too. I honestly don’t remember, Sam.”

Sam, if it was possible, hunkered down even more. “About screwing everyone’s life up. It’s not true, I was just . . . I was just being a jerk.”

Oh. That. Dean swallowed the inchoate anger that rose up and chanced a look at Sam. The defeated posture, the head turned slightly away to hide tears . . .

But Dean had to know. “Why did you say it, then?”

“I was scared,” Sam confessed.

Dean struggled with that notion for a while. “What?”

“Scared. Of losing you.”

Dean laughed uncertainly. “Um, not sure you were paying attention, but you were the one who got taken, little brother.”

“Do you like Jo?”  The question caught Dean unprepared.

“Uh, I dunno. She’s a nice girl, I guess. Why?”

“Would you like . . . like to hunt with her again?”

It all clicked together, and Dean could’ve slammed his face against the steering wheel if he wasn’t driving. “Sam, I’m not leaving you.”

Sam flinched, and Dean could’ve cursed his choice of words. Wrong thing to say. He tried again. “I don’t want to hunt with Jo, I like hunting with you.”

“Jo’s someone who could watch your back. Help with research.” Sam’s voice could sound so young again, like he was five and Dean was nine, and Sam wanted him to have the prize from the cereal.

“Sammy, stop with the guilt tripping, okay? You and me, we’re a team.”

Sam’s voice was bitter. “Yeah, some team. All I ever do is get captured and freak you out and then have to be saved by you.

Dean swallowed, reaching across the divide and grasping Sam’s shoulder. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said strongly.

Sam didn’t look like he quite believed him, but some of the tension went out of his shoulders.

Dean would take what he could get.


End file.
